Everyone kept warning me about the narrator. "The accent is wrong," they said. "She sounds Irish, not Scottish." And look—they're not wrong. Laural Merlington's attempt at a Scottish brogue for Roslynn definitely veers into Irish territory, and I noticed it immediately. But here's the thing nobody told me: I stopped caring about three hours in because my heart was too busy doing somersaults over Anthony Malory.
I was up way too late finishing this one, Frida curled on my chest like a furry weighted blanket, Diego judging me from the dresser as I whisper-gasped at my phone. Abuela would have LOVED Anthony—that specific breed of arrogant rake who thinks he's God's gift but then gets absolutely wrecked by love. She lived for that transformation.
When The Wrong Accent Still Hits Right
Okay, let's address the elephant. The Scottish-that-sounds-Irish thing IS distracting at first. Like, genuinely. I kept thinking "wait, did we teleport to Dublin?" But Merlington does something interesting—her delivery of the romantic lines has this soft tenderness that made me forgive a lot. When Anthony says something devastatingly sweet (and he does, frequently, once he stops being insufferable), she leans into this gentle warmth that just... works.
Her male voices are a mixed bag though. Some reviewers say they sound like old men, and I can hear what they mean—there's a gravelly quality that doesn't quite match how I picture Anthony. But honestly? I've heard way worse. The bigger issue for me was this laugh she does—this vocalization that pulled me right out of the story every single time. It's not constant, thank god, but when it happens? Jarring.
The Malory Magic (It's Real, Y'all)
This is my first Malory family book and now I understand why people are obsessed. Anthony is exactly the kind of hero I know I shouldn't love—cocky, rake-ish, convinced he'll never fall—but Johanna Lindsey writes his downfall so deliciously. Roslynn isn't just some damsel either. She's got a fortune-hunting cousin breathing down her neck and she's trying to find a safe marriage, which is such a specific kind of desperation that felt real.
The banter between them? *Chef's kiss.* There's this energy where you can feel them circling each other, both wanting something they're afraid to admit. The tension builds in a way that made me keep saying "just one more chapter" until suddenly it was 2 AM and I had client work due.
I should mention—there's some content in here that might not sit well with everyone. Some darker moments involving consent that are very much a product of when this was written. It didn't ruin the book for me, but I know it's a dealbreaker for some readers, so heads up.
A Rainy Sunday Kind of Listen
This is comfort food romance. It's not trying to reinvent the genre or make some grand statement—it's just delivering exactly what you want when you want a historical romance with a reformed rake and a strong heroine. That same unapologetic comfort-food energy is what I loved about Full Bloom—sometimes you just need a book that knows exactly what it is. The pacing is solid, never dragging, and at just over 10 hours it's the perfect length for a weekend binge.
Merlington's performance, accent issues aside, actually grew on me. By the end I was invested in how she delivered the emotional beats, even if I never quite bought her as Scottish. She's apparently done multiple Lindsey books and some reviewers say this is her best work—I can believe that. There's an earnestness in how she handles the romance that feels genuine.
Who Gets This Book (And Who Should Scroll Past)
If you're a stickler for accurate accents, you might struggle. If weird laugh sounds in audiobooks make you want to throw your phone, maybe read the print version. But if you can roll with some imperfections and you're hungry for that classic historical romance energy—the kind with balls and scandals and rakes who get reformed by love—this delivers.
Perfect for: fans of Lisa Kleypas, anyone who loves a good enemies-to-lovers with class differences, people who want something cozy but spicy. Skip if: you need perfect narration or you're sensitive to older romance conventions around consent.
Abuela Would Have Gasped
I didn't ugly-cry at this one (saving that for my next contemporary romance spiral), but I definitely clutched my chest at least twice. Anthony's eventual surrender to his feelings hit me right in that soft spot I pretend I don't have. Abuela would have gasped, clutched her rosary, and then immediately asked "what happens next with this family?"
Same, Abuela. Same.
